


Demons and Business Cards (A Time to Reap, A Time to Sow)

by flecksofpoppy



Series: A Time to Reap, A Time to Sow [6]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Backstory, Gen, M/M, Will what'd you do this time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 11:42:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1647440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flecksofpoppy/pseuds/flecksofpoppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Curiosity has killed a lot of things, possibly even Death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Demons and Business Cards (A Time to Reap, A Time to Sow)

**Author's Note:**

> Another installment of my limbo Grelliam fic!

_Taking place some time between 1815-1820_

There's a commotion in the office today, and for once, it has nothing to do with Grell Sutcliff—who, at that very moment, happens to be walking through the door. No one asks what's detained Grell when she strolls in half an hour late; no one really wants to know, lest they become mixed up in it.

"What's going on?" she asks one of the girls from General Affairs that are flitting about.

"Senior Sutcliff," she breathes, her eyes wide. "Our division's Soul Ledger has been stolen."

"Stolen?" Grell repeats, and then laughs a little. "Darling, you simply must be joking. How does one ‘steal’ a Soul Ledger? It doesn't even exist on this plane, my dear."

Grell's smile fades when her face remains solemn.

"Even Mr. Spears doesn't know where it is," she says in a hushed voice, as if Will is somewhere nearby, waiting to hear her and then sack her on the spot.

Most everyone is afraid of Will these days—the stern and upright William T. Spears, destined to reach upper administration faster than almost any reaper that's ever been with the Association.

There are even rumors going around that he actually reaped the last trainee who failed their exam.

Grell's response to that had been: _"Of course he didn't reap anyone." She had been talking to one of the biggest gossips in the division, filing her nails. "How dull. Who in their right mind would ever want to sit behind a desk for one-hundred years, anyway?"_

"The To Die List is already getting backed up," the General girl says, her eyes wide and horrified. "The Creator is going to cast down a plague on humankind if we don't find it soon. There are going to be too many souls wandering around. Soon, we'll be having ghoul and ghost sightings," her voice is rising with her own hysterics. "And then," she cries, "humanity will be plunged back into the dark ages, riddled with superstition and—"

"My dear girl," Grell says, shaking her by the shoulders, "do calm down."

She snaps her mouth shut, staring at Grell with wide, panicked eyes.

"Now, that kind of behavior just won't do," Grell says, clucking her tongue. "I just won't stand for ghouls and ghosts interrupting polite society," her tone is dismissive as she continues, "the dark ages sound like such a bore."

She drops the girl’s hands, puts one on her hip, and smooths the flustered girl's hair behind an ear. "You've gotten yourself all rumpled and in a tizzy," she says, shaking her head. "Darling, go fix yourself in a mirror. Put on some lipstick, and calm down."

"Yes," she says, catching her breath, "yes, you're right."

"Now," she says calmly, "where is that dastardly William?"

"In the Living World somewhere,” the General Affairs girl replies. "Looking for the Ledger."

"Everything will be just fine," Grell says, and turns on her heel.

The General Affairs staff is still flitting around, jabbering at each other with panic and mayhem.

Grell claps two gloved hands sharply and says in a high-pitched, loud voice, "Pardon me, everyone!"

Hearing a reaper's voice with at least some seniority, everyone turns to look at Grell.

"Now," Grell says, walking between two desks and planting a heeled foot on a chair, "everyone calm down, get yourselves a cup of tea, and get back to work, darlings. This panic just won't do."

Everyone looks at each other, as if wondering what they should do, and the murmuring of indecision starts.

Until Grell seizes her scythe from her belt and plants it directly into the center of a desk; the wood splinters and the crack sounds like lightning.

Half the staff of General Affairs are in the tea break room by the time Grell reclaims her scythe, with the others trying to get there.

Grell sighs to herself dramatically, blowing the wood dust off the blade of her scythe. "Philistines," she proclaims gustily, and re-fastens the scythe to her belt. "We really must stop using temps."

She points a perfectly manicured red fingernail at the lingering stragglers who are too frightened to even move. 

"You three," she says, smiling with sharp teeth, almost baring them, "make sure everyone gets back to work and remains calm. Or else I'll leave you in the hands of William T. Spears when he returns."

That promise seems to inspire even more fear than the scythe had.

= = =

Grell is growing increasingly irritated as she walks the streets of London. Normally, one Reaper can get a general sense of where another is, if assistance is required, but Grell hasn't felt a single tendril of Will's presence—or any other divine presence, for that matter—since she arrived.

Maybe he really isn't in London, Grell muses, stopping to stare into the window of a shop. The girl had said the Living World, and if the Soul Ledger really was missing or stolen, Will, and any other number of Reapers, could be just about anywhere.

Who in their right mind would steal a Soul Ledger, Grell cannot imagine. What a boring thing to steal. Maybe a demon? A fallen divine being of some sort?

Grell lets out an exasperated sigh and fixes her hair in the reflection of the shop window; it's longer now, past her shoulders. But now it's out of place and mussed from the wind since she's been stalking around London, looking for a certain Reaper currently missing in action.

"Will," she mutters under his breath, "you infuriating man. Men... all the same."

"Is that right, Sutcliff?" comes a familiar voice.

"Will, where have you been?" Grell huffs at him as she turns sharply, hands on her hips reprovingly. "I've been walking around for ages looking for you."

"You were looking for me?" Will replies, one eyebrow raised.

"Well, of course," Grell says, rolling her eyes. "Who else would I look for when the Soul Ledger goes missing?"

"Is anyone of any authority in the office?" Will asks, rubbing his temples.

"Not directly from the department, "Grell says, a small smile on her lips, "but I wouldn't be too concerned about that."

"What did you do?"

"Not a thing, William, dear," Grell says, moving to stand close to Will. She pushes Will's hands away and rubs his temples.

"Stop doing that," Will says, moving away, "people are staring."

"Let them stare," Grell says dismissively, but she doesn't touch Will again. "In fact," she adds, crossing his arms, "let's leave this tiresome world and see if anyone else came up with anything."

Will just looks at her, his eyebrow twitching.

It's only then Grell really notices Will’s appearance: hair mussed, glasses askew, tie crooked—something is off.

"Let's go," Grell repeats, raising an eyebrow and cocking her head to the side. "What are you waiting for?"

"I lost it," Will says under his breath, gritting his teeth.

"What?" Grell’s eyebrows raise, convinced she didn’t hear right.

"I _lost_ the Soul Ledger," Will says in a loud voice. His eyes widen as the incriminating statement echoes up and down the street, and Grell pulls him around the corner into an alley.

"You what?" Grell hisses. "How do you lose a Soul Ledger?!"

"I don't know!" Will spits back, his face panicked for the first time Grell can ever remember.

"It's not even on this plane," Grell continues.

"I know, Sutcliff," Will growls. His hands are shaking and he looks absolutely terrified, and younger than Grell has ever seen him, even though they've been out of the Academy for at least a decade now.

Grell puts a hand on his shoulder, and this time Will doesn't push it away.

"Everyone thinks it was stolen," Grell whispers.

"Yes," Will says, his voice back under control but still tense. "It may have been."

"What do you mean 'may have been'?" Grell can feel her own voice rising in disbelief.

William T. Spears lost the Soul Ledger.

It's so absurd that it's almost hilarious; only it’s not.

"When was the last time you saw it?" Grell asks finally. "When did you last have it open?"

"I..."

"I reaped someone yesterday," Grell says, both hands on Will's shoulders now. "You had it open when you gave me the list!"

"Stop shaking me, Sutcliff!"

Grell loosens her grip and gets close to Will's face. "You know what could happen to you, William," she says, more softly. "Now, where were you between last night and today?"

"I was..."

"Tell me," Grell hisses, "or else I'll reap you where you stand."

"I was in Hell," Will finally blurts out in a harsh voice.

It's difficult to render Grell speechless; in fact, Grell will realize after this incident that it's never been done before this moment. Will's expression just grows more horrified when he sees Grell's reaction, and it's obvious the full ramifications of his actions have begun to sink in.

"Why—in the name of the Creator and the finest milliners in London—were you there?" Grell finally whispers.

"I wanted to see how their kind lives," Will finally says defensively. "I wanted to—"

"William," Grell says patiently, "humans are nothing but entertainment, and devils are nothing but more deliciously dangerous entertainment.

"I can't say I haven't... sampled them myself," Grell says, and Will holds up a hand for him to stop before she begins. 

Her face darkens, though, and she gets very close to Will’s face; much to her satisfaction, he shies back a little.

"You fool," Grell hisses. "You could be reaped for this."

Instead of pushing her away, though, Will just scowls and says quietly, "I know."

Grell sighs and steps back, and Will stays where he is against the wall.

"This won't do at all," Grell finally sighs softly, straightening Will's crooked tie. "You look like you got into a scuffle with a rogue demon hound."

"I appreciate that observation," Will says in a flat voice.

"I'm only here to help," Grell replies, but she's not smiling. "Come now," she says after a moment, when Will is back to a somewhat presentable appearance. "We're going to fix this."

"How in the world do you propose to fix this, Sutcliff?" Will asks. He's desperate enough though there's actually a poorly hidden glimmer of hope in his eyes.

This is bad.

"We're going to get it back," Grell says. "Some filthy demon has his hands on our Soul Ledger. I simply will not tolerate a dastardly fiend from Hell—that putrid, uncouth place—ruining your career, darling."

= = =

Hell is a place that is deceptively attractive in its own sinful way—beautiful and dark, until you drink the water.

Or the wine. Whatever the Bacchantines happen to be serving that day.

"Dante may have been taken off to the To Die List," Grell says idly as she and Will move silently through the dark pathways, "but he was certainly wrong about those neat, tidy circles. This terrain is simply not made for a lady's shoes."

Will looks sullen enough that he doesn't even offer a response, until Grell turns to face him and stops walking.

"We're going to get it back," she says, all pretenses dropped for a moment.

Will meets her eyes and nods.

"This is almost as bad as Thomas Wallis," he grumbles finally. Grell just smiles a little when she hears Will's typically neutral, dismissive tone return. "Being rescued by you."

"Oh, I know darling. Simply tragic, isn't it?"

Before Will can respond, a distinctly dark, demonic presence arrives; the presence is so strong, Grell can practically smell it there.

Hopefully he'll at least be attractive, whatever form he takes. Regardless of demons' reputations as a putrid, tasteless lot, anyone that's ever met one or two has to admit they have a penchant for aesthetics.

Unfortunately, this one doesn't.

"Oh dear," Grell says, grinning with a hand on her scythe, "I was hoping I wouldn't have to reap you, but I'm afraid you've put your parts together all wrong."

The humanoid form standing in front of them is a bit too tall, out of proportion, and looks like something in a traveling side show.

"You must be a young one," Grell purrs, "haven't quite gotten the hang of it yet? I'd say about five-hundred."

"Don't," Will says, his hand on top of Grell's where she's moved to draw her scythe.

 _"What?"_ Grell turns abruptly. "Are you mad?"

"You'll be demoted," Will says, "for reaping an immortal being, whether it's a demon or not."

"That's happened a thousand times!" Grell cries, gesticulating wildly. “I don’t even know what demotion I’m at!”

"Substantially demoted," Will adds, and raises an eyebrow. "A year of desk work for every five you've been a reaper."

"Oh, dear, please," Grell says, waving his fingers dismissively. "Two years for us is like two minutes."

"Desk work, Sutcliff," Will simply repeats. "For you."

For a moment, Grell is unsure, until finally she makes a feral noise and drops her hand.

"I won't have it on my head," Will adds. "Besides, you'll pester me about it for at least the next century, if not more."

"Very well," Grell says through clenched teeth. "So, what are we going to do about him?"

The demon has actually had the decency to stop where he is and just watch them; he actually looks amused.

"Do you find something humorous?" Grell snaps, hands on her hips.

"Reapers in hell," comes the voice, and for a moment, even Grell steps back. It is one of the most uncanny things she's ever heard, a distorted sound like no other. He's speaking in his natural voice; Grell has indeed sampled demons, although only one. It was a special occasion, and the demon was actually not so much a demon as a half demon who had quite a nice face. This one, on the other hand, does not.

"We're here for—"

"We’re here to see the head of your division," Grell cuts Will off, giving him a deathly look. Will has never been the best with strategy and tact. "Wherever that might be in this place."

"We don't have divisions," the demon says, "only factions. And I'm famished."

"I'd be willing to make an arrangement," Will says suddenly. Grell snaps her head to the side to stare at Will. "If you let me speak to the... individual in charge of your... faction," he says, "I will make a contract with you."

"Will," Grell hisses.

"I've never consumed a Reaper's soul," the demon says, apparently genuinely interested. "And you are correct—I am only 500 years old, and I'm already bored."

He stops and thinks for a moment. "Very well," he concludes, "but I'm taking _him_ as collateral until you return."

"It's ‘her’ darling," Grell says smoothly, "and that's fine. But could you please put some decent clothes on." She laughs lightly, "I'm sorry, I mean face."

The demon actually seems amused, and lets out something that sounds like it might be a laugh.

"How do I know he won't be consumed?" Will says, his voice prickly and cold.

The demon definitely laughs now and looks at Will. "It would be pointless. I can sense his power, and it would be an even match. Besides, I'm much more interested in your proposition, Reaper."

"Very well," Will says, casting a look at Grell. Grell just smiles and flutters her eyelashes.

Will doesn't look back again as he goes forward by himself.

"Now," Grell says, smiling at the demon, "whatever shall we do to pass the time? Let's start with that nose. That just has to go."

= = =

The demon holding Will's card is giving him a truly confused expression.

"You've traveled here," the thing that has been identified as the leader of the faction says, "to reclaim your Soul Ledger."

"You'll see there," Will says, pointing with as much authority as he can muster, "that I am the Assistant Director of the Grim Reaper Dispatch Association in the London division."

"You've traveled here," the demon repeats, ignoring Will's statement, "alone, to our world, to reclaim a Ledger of _Souls_."

"I'm not alone," Will says, feeling the prickle of something cold and uncomfortable up the back of his neck. Maybe this is what it's like to be sent to hell; he's done it himself a few times, when he was still in Collections.

"You've traveled here with your single companion," the demon corrects himself, and something that sounds like predatory humor creeping into his voice.

"I've been sent by the London division to negotiate the Ledger's safe return. We don't need any further incidents between planes after that tasteless business the last time."

"Trifling with humans is an amusing game that becomes tiresome quite quickly," the demon responds, completely ignoring Will's threat. "There are the finest souls, and those are quite rare. They are our ambrosia. And then there are divine souls, like your own, which are akin to exquisite sampling dishes. Not quite whole, but enough taste and aroma to them that they are quite satisfying, for a least a hundred years."

Will doesn't respond, just stands his ground and adjusts his glasses. His fingers are practically twitching for his scythe though, and for the first time in his life, he's regretting not keeping up his practical technique.

"The best tenderizer for a soul, of course," the demon continues, "is pain."

"I'm afraid to disappoint you," Will begins, "but you've encountered the wrong—"

Will stops talking abruptly as the Soul Ledger materializes and the demon flips through its pages carelessly. He can practically feel the stains and mortifying touch of impropriety and imbalance touching him, touching the entire system that he exists to enforce, protect, keep whole.

"Oh, look here," the demon pauses on a page that's old, names neatly ticked off.

"Thomas Wallis: reaped by William T. Spears."

Will, seeing no reason to simply be truthful, shrugs. "Yes," he says. "Sent off to heaven, and not to you lot."

"Oh, yes, and here," the demon says, and if there could be a smile in a sound that resembles wind whistling across ice, it would be this. "This person, it looks as though you sent them to me."

Will keeps perfectly still and fights the urge to adjust his glasses.

"A known thief and murderer."

"Oh, we've had much fun with him," the devil says. And there, in front of them, the soul appears.

"This is the first soul you sent here," he says. "Would you like to see his remaining cinematic record? His soul was so incomplete when he arrived, we almost just threw it to our hounds. But, day by day, we nibbled. His screams were quite delicious as seasoning."

" I would prefer you stop this tasteless charade now," Will says, and he can't keep the discomfort out of his voice.

Instead, a cinematic record plays. It's a familiar sight to Will, almost comforting, until it snakes out violently, and Will sees that it's mostly blank, the reel steadily growing more and more distorted and damaged.

A tendril gets close enough to Will to brush against his arm, and finally he does shrink back.

"You know what a soul tastes like, William T. Spears," the devil says. "You tasted Thomas Wallis's, and you wept for it. Yet you still send these creatures to me."

"We're not angels," Will says.

"We once were," the devil laughs, "and then, we saw the hypocrisy, the grotesque creatures that comprise humanity. They are only fit for eating, and most of them are barely even fit for that."

"It is not my place to agree or disagree," Will says, and now his hand is on his scythe, "and this conversation is becoming tiresome. Return the Soul Ledger to me at once."

"What is a Reaper's version of hell?"

"I'm quite sure I don't know, nor do I care."

"Oh, but I do," the demon says, "it's better entertainment than humans, and we don't get out much unless one of them is desperate enough to summon us. And now, here you are, in our realm."

"I'm afraid you'll find yourself hard-pressed to find any possible version of hell inside of my memories that you haven't already shown," Will says steadfastly.

"I never said it was you I'd like to see," the demon says, "but you can watch as well if it pleases you."

"It does _not_ please me," Will replies, "and you'll also find it most difficult to pry into my companion's mind—"

"Oh, but look," the demon says softly, sounding almost aroused, "there he is. Close your eyes, Reaper. Join me."

Will does not want to close his eyes, but he finds them closing anyway.

Grell's presence is indeed there, in this strange space, but there's nothing.

At first there's nothing at all, but then a few things materialize Will hears a strange humming, like a piece of machinery, staying at the same pitch; the sudden sensation of phantom silk across skin; the smell of blood; and a drawn out, positively indecent moan that sounds embarrassingly familiar.

"These are the things this being values," the demon says, "and these are his memories, consumed."

And then the only thing Will hears then is a cinematic record flipping, as if it's ended, and the screen has gone blank. He struggles to open his eyes and can't manage it; he feels tears for the first time since his first reap on his cheeks.

"Unfortunately," Will's eyes finally open and he blinks rapidly, "this is only an imagined scenario. But judging from what I see in his essence, he would be quite palatable indeed."

"Well, that's not very polite, darling," comes an unexpected voice. "Trying to steal a peek into my intimate bed chambers without even an invitation?"

Will turns sharply to see Grell standing there, a ghastly smile on his face. He looks at Will and says, "It's going to be at least a decade of desk work, I'm afraid," before coming to stand next to him.

"You smell like demon," Will says, clearing his throat.

"I know, putrid bunch really, even if they do occasionally have lovely visages."

"You plan on reaping me?" the demon asks.

"Why, yes," Grell answers, and without any further conversation, grabs Will's scythe from his belt.

Grell’s practical technique has always privately impressed Will, even if he’d never admit it. Now is no exception, as Grell brandishes both scythes—one in each hand—and turns to the side.

“Now, then,” he says, smiling with his sharp teeth, cocking his head to the side coyly, “shall we dance?”

The fight doesn’t last long. The demon is overly confident—just like Grell had also been at one time—and he’s not expecting Grell to move as fast as he does.

By the time Grell has cut the demon down, he’s panting with the exertion and turns to Will with a distressed look.

“I really must customize a scythe to my own liking. I’m _sweating_ ,” he exclaims in horror, both arms dropping to his sides. “How revolting.”

The cinematic record bursts out of the remains of the demon, and Grell’s face lights up as he returns Will’s scythe.

"This is going to take a long time" Will sighs as the cinematic record starts to play.

"Oh, I'd say he's only about two-thousand years old," Grell says, "and you know how I enjoy a good show. Theatre is my passion, after all."

Grell doesn't say anything when Will turns away and doesn't watch. Grell, on the other hand, is transfixed as always; until it gets to the end. Will knows there's only a few seconds left when Grell's surprised look lands on him.

For once, he doesn't say anything; just turns toward Will and rubs a thumb over his cheek where tear tracks are still embarrassingly visible. "It was quite unpleasant," Grell finally says, "to feel him there."

"Devils are not to be trifled with," Will finally says quietly, and takes his scythe back. "Detestable creatures."

He reaches out and takes the Soul Ledger back.

As they start on their way back, Grell mutters, "I at least want a desk next to a window."

= = =

Grell gets off with three years of desk work (next to a window) solely because Will offers to do free overtime.

No one asks any further questions, particularly after the rumor circulates that Grell Sutcliff reaped ten demons and William T. Spears fought twelve demon hounds to retrieve the Soul Ledger.

This rumor is never corrected.


End file.
